"I am sure that the governor of Basra would have ordered the brave soldiers of his army to put saddles on the horses after hearing the plight of the Muslim children and women from the mouth of the messenger, and there will be no need to show this letter to the messenger." If Hajjaj ibn Yusuf's blood has frozen, then my speech may prove futile. I am the daughter of Abul Hasan. My brother and I are still safe from the enemy's reach. But our comrades are in the captivity of an enemy whose heart has no place for mercy. Imagine this dark view of the prison. In which the ears of the captives are restless to hear the hoofs of the mujahideen of Islam.
It was a miracle that my brother and I survived the captivity of the enemy. But our search continues and we too may be thrown into a dark cell. It is possible that my wound will put me to the sleep of death before that and I will be saved from a terrible end, but when I die I will regret that those fast horses whose riders are knocking at the doors of Turkistan and Africa. He could not reach the help of the orphans and helpless children of his nation.
Is it possible that the sword that fell on the head of the proud crown princes of Rome and Iran as lightning?
It will prove blunt in front of the proud king of Sindh. I am not afraid of death.
Oh pilgrims! If you are alive, reach out to help the orphans and widows of your brave nation!!
Naheed,
Helpless daughter of a nation!